Thicker Than Water
by RatherBeAWriter
Summary: A colleague's bout of food poisoning, a squeamish medical student and a series of drug overdoses. Nikki has a tendency to get over-involved in situations best left alone, but as a series of events lead her deeper into a case, she finds that everything becomes much worse when she's right at the centre.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I told myself I wasn't allowed to post a new multi-chap until I had more time, but this is a reworked version of a story I wrote and lost a few years ago so a lot of the ground work is already done. I feel like the basic premise of the story is one which is done a lot in fanfic, but it is one which I saw as a plausible story for Nikki long before I knew what fanfic was. I hope I manage to portray it that way.**

 **Please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy the story.**

 **/  
/**

"Harry, I was called out at 3am. I'm exhausted!" Nikki sighed, balancing her phone against her shoulder as she stirred an extra spoonful of sugar into her coffee. She needed the extra boost this morning.

"I'm sorry, Nikki," Harry replied. "But unless you want me to projectile vomit all over the students, I'm afraid our options are rather limited."

He leaned back on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position and groaned slightly.

Nikki was unsure whether the groan was simply for her benefit, or if he really was that miserable. Regardless, it was enough to make her feel guilty for her previous tone.

"Sorry, I'm just being grumpy," she replied. "I'll be fine after my coffee."

Harry felt his stomach churn at the mere thought of something so strong.

"Thank you. I owe you one," he told her, lying perfectly still and slowing his breathing as he pushed all thoughts of food and drink out of his mind.

"Don't worry about it," Nikki insisted. "Just look after yourself – make sure you don't get dehydrated."

He smiled slightly at her concern.

"I won't," he assured her. "Let me know how it goes."

She rubbed her eyes, and took a tentative sip from her mug, despite it being evident that it was far too hot to drink.

"I will," she replied, quickly withdrawing the mug from her stinging lip and setting it on the desk in front of her. "Oh, and Harry?" she added, unable to resist sharing her afterthought.

"Yeah?"

"I told you that Chinese take away was dodgy."

/  
/

By the time Leo arrived at the Lyell Centre, Nikki was immersed in the scribbles of notes which Harry called a "lesson plan" for the demonstration and lecture he had been due to give to a group of medical students.

"Nikki, what are you doing here?" he questioned, expecting that she would have tried to take at least part of the morning to sleep after her night on call.

"Harry has food poisoning," she explained.

Leo screwed up his face.

"Did he go to that place between the betting shop and the barber's again?" Leo asked, remembering Harry's favourite, but rather questionable, food establishment of choice.

Nikki nodded.

"I think he might have finally accepted there are better options out there," she replied, stifling a yawn.

"Are you sure you're okay to take his place?" Leo asked.

She nodded again, taking a gulp of coffee and ignoring the fact that it scalded her taste buds. The small sips weren't getting the caffeine into her system quickly enough to counteract the number of hours which had passed since she last slept.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

Leo looked unconvinced but let it drop.

"You know where I am if you need me," he reminded her.

She smiled and nodded her thanks, before returning her attention to Harry's notes-come-hieroglyphics. People like him were the reason doctors got such a hard time over their handwriting.

/  
/

The lab was becoming unusually noisy with the bustle of the arriving students and, luckily, Nikki had finally perked up. Her phone buzzed against the counter, as she tied an apron over her scrubs.

 _Knock 'em dead. H x_

She grinned, not so much at the content of the message, but at Harry's style of texting. She'd tried to tell him that the initial was unnecessary, given that mobile phones had been capable of storing and displaying the name of the sender for well over a decade. Still, he couldn't break the habit.

 _Have just deciphered that you intended to demonstrate a dissection of the carotid artery and not dice some carrots. Please type up your notes next time you decide to pull a sickie. N x_

The habit was contagious.

She placed her phone back down and turned her attention to the list of students, attempting to familiarise herself with the names. It should have been Harry's fourth session with this group and she didn't want to come across as the hopeless substitute.

 _Good to see common sense prevail. Watch out for fainters. H x_

The speed of his response suggested that he was getting bored.

 _Better the students fainting than you. Get back to recovering and let me work. N x_

Despite her tone, she still had some concern for him. To admit defeat and call in sick, he had to have been feeling worse than from the average dodgy meal. She'd check on him later. Once she'd done her part in educating the next generation of pathologists.

/  
/

"Where's Dr Cunningham?" one of the more confident students asked, as they gathered around Nikki and the cadaver, jostling slightly to ensure they could all see that was going on. The others seemed to have accepted their stand-in lecturer without question but she'd suspected Harry, with his well-timed jokes and laidback nature, might have a few die-hard groupies.

"I'm afraid Dr Cunningham is unwell today," she explained. "So you will be stuck with me for the next hour and a half. I'm Nikki Alexander – one of Dr Cunningham's colleagues at the Lyell," she introduced herself.

Around her she could hear a few pens noting down her name and spotted a few disappointed looks. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had been in their position, eager to learn and with certain lecturers and tutors that she worshipped. And others who caused her to dread their classes.

"Who can tell me where to begin with this gentleman?" she asked, immediately aware that she sounded like one of her archaic professors.

The open question was met with silence and she cringed. Not the best start.

"Check for a pulse?" someone to her left muttered, causing a small chorus of sniggers to erupt.

"Well actually, when attending a scene there is always a need to confirm that life is extinct," she responded, noting that she quickly had a hold of the majority of the students' attention. "Even when it is apparent that there is no possibility of survival. In fact, I once had to confirm a headless man had no hope of resuscitation."

The anecdote wasn't her own and she wasn't even sure if it was true. Sara had told it when she'd arrived, fresh-faced and eager, but slightly nauseous, at the morgue in Johannesburg. Her eyes had grown wide, just like those currently facing her.

"So now that we've confirmed our body is deceased, what comes next?"

This time a few hands reached into the air, at varying speeds which reflected their owner's confidence.

Nikki smiled to herself. This was more like it.

/  
/

Around an hour into the class, Nikki had hit her stride. The students were responding and she had their attention, for the most part at least. There were a few, lurking at the back who were either bored or, she suspected, trying not to succumb to the nausea and dizziness which could come with an unfamiliarity to the sights and smells of a post-mortem.

One girl caught her attention. She was fidgeting too much and her face had grown pale almost as soon as Nikki began to speak.

"Is everyone still okay?" she asked, directing the question at the whole group, though her eyes tried to meet with those of that one girl.

The girl looked away, some of the others nodded and no one took the opportunity to take a seat or leave for some fresh air, so Nikki continued.

As she did so, the student who had been the object of her attention glanced up at the clock and calculated how much longer there was to go. Twenty-five minutes. That was doable. She counted in her head as she breathed in for four seconds, held it for seven, and breathed out for eight. The smell of chemicals and decomposition reduced the efficacy of the exercise but it still served its purpose of keeping her standing where she was.

Nikki took another glance in the girl's direction, noting that her eyes were looking anywhere except the demonstration. She remembered how hard it was to admit that something was tough to stomach during medical school. In such a competitive environment, weakness was not something she had ever wanted to show. Now, she wondered if it was her place to tell her queasy student that it was okay to take a few minutes for air every so often.

/  
/

"Thanks, Dr Alexander," the same student who had queried Harry's whereabouts smiled, as the class started to disperse.

"You're welcome," she responded, appreciating that she seemed to have been accepted as a reasonable temporary replacement for the great Dr Cunningham.

At the front of the group heading towards the door, and already tearing off her plastic apron, was the pale brunette.

"Would you be able to help the technicians clear up?" she asked two boys who had made the mistake of lingering to close to the slab.

Before they'd even given an answer she was weaving her way through the crowd to the girl, catching her just before she stepped into the corridor.

"Hey," Nikki called, finally matching her pace.

The girl turned round with a startled expression, forced to slow down by her lecturer's greeting.

"Are you okay?" Nikki continued. "You looked a little pale in there."

"Fine," the girl shrugged, her deer-in-headlights impression continuing despite her apparent nonchalance.

"What's your name?" Nikki asked.

"Imogen," she answered. "I'm sorry, I'm running late," she added, overtaking her unwanted companion and making a break for the nearest exit, before Nikki could ask anything further.

Nikki watched her leave, simultaneously making a mental note of her name and realising she now seemed like some sort of crazy busybody. Thinking back to a conversation she'd once had with Harry, she knew that a twenty-odd year-old version of herself would definitely have wanted to punch her in the face by now.

/  
/

It was five o'clock by the time Nikki managed to get away from work. She was only intending to finish some paperwork but then Leo asked her opinion on a suspected overdose before she could leave. Before long she was sucked into the vortex of tying up loose ends and the day disappeared. Bed was now calling to her but there was one last stop before sleep.

"Oh, Harry," she gasped, hiding her laugh with her hand as a particularly scruffy and exhausted doctor answered the door.

"Thanks for the sympathy," he muttered, stepping aside to let her in.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, following him through to the living room, where he took up his previous position on the sofa.

His response was a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

"I brought some supplies."

She emptied the carrier bag onto the table lining up the cream crackers, rehydration solution, white bread and peppermint tea.

"Do you want some tea and toast?" she asked.

"I'll stick to small sips of water for now, but thank you Nikki," he replied.

She had been planning to take a seat in the armchair opposite, but she paused for a moment, placing her hand against his clammy forehead.

"It's a good job your patients are dead," he remarked. "Your hands are like ice."

"I've been outside and you have a temperature," she replied, defensively. "Have you been drinking plenty of water?" she frowned.

"Your face will stay like that if you're not careful," he quipped.

"Harry!"

She shook her head, irritated that he wasn't taking her concern seriously.

"Yes, I have," he assured her. "I'll be fine in another day or so."

"Good," Nikki smiled, settling down in the armchair. It would only be for five minutes and then she'd be satisfied Harry wasn't about to keel over from dehydration, and would finally be able to go home and sleep.

"How were the students?" Harry asked, clocking the dark circles under Nikki's eyes. He suspected she'd have done enough work for both of them today.

"Fine. Though I think some of them were rather disappointed by your absence."

She hadn't been planning to tell him this ego stroking piece of information but he looked in need of cheering up.

"Really?" he responded with a pleased smile.

Nikki laughed.

"A tall, rugby player type, with sandy blonde hair asked where you were before I'd even started to speak."

"Lewis?" he questioned.

She shrugged.

"I didn't ask the names of your fan club."

Harry didn't need to know that she had tried but given up on identifying the students by name around ten minutes into the class.

"And no fainters today?" he enquired.

"One girl looking a little peaky but nothing dramatic."

"Who?"

"Imogen. She was very quiet."

"That's odd," he puzzled. "She's normally right down the front. I didn't have her down as the squeamish type."

"Maybe she wasn't feeling well today," Nikki suggested, knowing that the girl she had seen and spoken to did not show any sign of interest in the class. "Or maybe she has the same taste in cheap Chinese food as you."

Harry feigned hurt at the dig but laughed weakly.

"Probably hungover," he concluded. "I would have been at that age."

/  
/

She sighed, slamming shut her laptop and turning to gaze out the floor to ceiling glass at the view of London. It was a beautiful sunset – the same kind of fiery sky which had been on display the night he convinced her that the flat was more than an overpriced bachelor pad. It was cold too and turning into the sort of still and quiet night that could take your breath away.

"What's wrong?" he asked, leaning over the back of her chair and wrapping his arms around her from behind.

She leaned in against his shoulder and kissed him hello.

"I didn't hear you come in. How was your day?"

"Same as always," he replied, moving his hands to work on the knots in her neck. "You seem stressed. Did something happen?"

"It's too late to change my elective," she replied. "I'll need to speak to someone at the university tomorrow to see if they can make an exception."

His fingers rubbed hard and deep over a particularly tense area and she let out a small moan at the combined pain and pleasure.

"I thought you were _dying_ to do the pathology elective."

He started to laugh at their tired joke but stopped and sighed as he saw her face remained unchanged.

"What happened, Imogen?"

"I changed my mind, okay?" she snapped, jumping to her feet and in the direction of the kitchen and a glass of wine.

"There's no need to be such a bitch about it," he muttered, as she filled two large glasses with the deep red liquid.

The room was silent for a moment, except from the glug of the bottle. She took a sip from one glass and pushed the other across the smooth, black counter towards him.

"Sorry," she apologised. "I just want to do something different."

He accepted the glass without a thanks.

"Fine," he responded. "Do whatever you want."

The liquid warmed his throat, calming his urge to say or do anything more.

She stayed on her side of the counter, opening the fridge to inspect the array of ingredients on offer for dinner. There wasn't much but she didn't feel like going out.

"Will pasta be okay tonight?" she asked.

"That's fine," he responded, disinterestedly, taking the chair she had occupied and settling down to check his email account.

She took a controlled breath, tapping out the beats on the stem of her wine glass and repeating the familiar pattern until the scream dissipated from her chest.

/  
/

 **A/N: Like Nikki, I borrowed the anecdote in this chapter. It may or may not have happened, but the lecturer who told it also showed pictures of baby animals to break up the worst topics, so I hung off every word she said!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading the first chapter for your reviews. I really appreciate the feedback. I'm going to aim for weekly updates (give or take a couple of days for work deadlines or my generally inability to manage my life!). Hope you enjoy the next chapter.**

/  
/

It was funny how five minutes could so easily become five hours. Harry and Nikki weren't sure which of them had fallen asleep first but their conversation had become increasingly sparse until it was non-existent.

And then it was almost midnight.

Harry had woken Nikki, wincing with her as she moved her neck after several hours asleep in the chair. She didn't even fight him on his offer of his spare room for the night. Exhaustion won and she collapsed onto the pull out bed without any protest.

Now it was morning and she was in Harry's kitchen. And in pain.

"Harry, it's not funny," she whined as he held the bag of frozen peas just out of her reach.

He grinned as he got his revenge for the previous day's teasing. Moving to a bed had done nothing for the crick in her neck and she was currently finding it near impossible to turn to the left.

"But it was funny when I was stuck in the foetal position on my sofa?" he smiled, continuing the taunting.

"Harry," she pleaded, gasping as he moved to her left hand side and she made the mistake of trying to follow.

"Okay, okay," he caved, at the first sign of real distress on her face. "Let me have a look."

He crouched beside her, gently running his fingers down each side of her neck and along her shoulders.

"Well, I'd say that is well and truly buggered," he proclaimed, eliciting a reluctant chuckle from her mouth.

He wrapped a tea towel around the peas and pressed them gently against the area which seemed to be causing her the most pain.

"Hold this," he instructed, positioning her hand where his had been. "I'll get you some ibuprofen."

"How are you feeling today?" she asked, suddenly feeling guilty that Harry's ailments had been forgotten in her mild panic at her restricted mobility.

"Better than your neck," he responded, kissing her head affectionately, before muttering something about her body showing its age as he left the room.

/  
/

Leo looked from one colleague to the other and sighed. Harry, unsteady on his feet from a day with no food, was sipping a mug of tea as he sat at his desk and tried to concentrate on an assortment of almost complete reports. Nikki was walking around in a cloud of Deep Heat and desperately searching for a comfortable position in which she could get on with some work.

"I have an appointment at two o'clock but I'm going to be in the cutting room until then," he told them. "Can one of you make sure the student who's coming to see me gets a coffee if I'm running late?"

"Of course," Nikki replied. She was feeling terrible that Leo was juggling so much of the day's work load on his own.

"Is it one of the final years?" Harry asked.

Leo nodded.

"Can't I trust you with my class for one day?" Harry taunted Nikki with a grin.

She glared at him in response, before turning, awkwardly, back to the papers on her desk.

Leo shook his head. At least Harry was showing signs of recovery.

"Just offer her a cup of coffee and be nice," Leo instructed. "There must be something wrong if she's made an urgent appointment to see me."

Nikki looked up again, frowning slightly.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Imogen Taylor," Leo replied, glancing at the record in his hand to confirm her full name.

It was Harry's turn to look concerned.

"Do you know what it's about?" he enquired. "Nikki thought she was acting oddly yesterday."

Leo shrugged, disliking the growing sense that this wasn't going to be a straightforward matter to deal with.

"I have no idea. I just know that it had to be today."

Nikki tried to turn her attention back to her work. She was in the middle of researching the metabolism of synthetic opiates, which wouldn't have been the most engaging task at the best of times, but she was finding it especially difficult to focus. Her mind kept drifting back to the previous day's class. She knew there was something going on with that girl.

"I was only winding you up."

Her thoughts were interrupted by Harry's voice, as he puzzled over her distant expression. Leo had already disappeared through to his office.

"What?"

She hadn't heard a word of what he had said.

"I was only joking," he explained. "About Imogen."

"Oh," she responded, her thoughts drifting slowly back to the room. "I know."

She gave him a half smile, before returning to the same paragraph of the journal article that she had already read three times. Why couldn't she just concentrate on the page in front of her?

/  
/

"Dr Cunningham? Dr Alexander?"

Zak stood in the middle of the office looking slightly sheepish when both doctors met his gaze.

"A call came in around about an hour ago. I didn't realise neither of you had been notified and Professor Dalton's busy…" he trailed off.

"What can we do?" Harry asked, patiently.

"A body's been found in the river. The police want a pathologist at the scene before the tide comes in. Sounds like it's been in the water a few days," he grimaced.

Harry felt his uneasy stomach somersault.

"Nikki…" he began.

He didn't need to continue – the sight of his grey pallor was all it took for her to get the message.

"Your excuse has a limited number of hours remaining," she told him, good humouredly. "Make the most of my sympathy."

"I promise you can pass the next one to me. No matter what it is and no matter what time," he offered, truly grateful that he could postpone encountering the sights and smells of a waterlogged body for the time being.

Nikki smiled, wondering if he would be so sincere about showing his gratitude if she called in the favour at 5am when it was pouring with rain.

"Zak, when the time comes, I will be calling you as a witness to Harry's promise," she smirked, grabbing her bag and coat, before turning her attention to Harry. "Your debts are really racking up!"

/  
/

The stony shore of the Thames, which was steadily shrinking under the advance of the equally dull water, was damp and drizzly. The hastily erected tent – doing very little to keep out the elements – and the white overalls of those examining the scene seemed to be the only specks of light in an otherwise grey landscape. Nikki pulled her own hood further down across her forehead and pushed back the strands of hair which were making a break for freedom in the wind.

"Dr Alexander!" called the nearest blob of white as she showed her ID to the officer manning the cordon.

The white suit scampered up the shore, out of breath by the time he reached the pathologist.

"Dr Alexander, I'm D.I. Easton – Mathew," he gasped, his cheeks flushed from the cold and the exertion.

"Nikki," she introduced herself. "Nice to meet you."

The D.I. offered her his hand to help her over the steepest part of the embankment. She accepted, not wishing to slip and end up wetter than she already was.

"I can't see any obvious signs of trauma on the body," he explained. "It might just be a straightforward drowning, but I'll leave it to you to draw any conclusions there. They called us in because we dealt with a shooting down this way last week, but it looks to me like this one just washed up. For the time being at least," he added, quickly.

Nikki nodded intermittently at his assessment. It always made her day a little easier when she was working with a detective who didn't charge all over the scene ordering everyone around.

They continued in the direction of the tent, stepping over a cluster of algae covered rocks. As her footing faltered, the sudden jolt through her body caused her hand to shoot towards the same spot where Harry had held the frozen peas earlier that day. Thankfully, the sharp sensation faded quickly under the pressure of her fingertips.

"Are you okay?" D.I. Easton asked, his arm ready to steady her should it be needed.

"Fine," she assured him. "I slept awkwardly last night," she added, in explanation.

He smiled understandingly.

"I know the feeling. I have a little girl who doesn't seem to understand that if she spreads out in the centre of our bed then my wife and I will be forced to become contortionists to get any sleep."

"How old?" Nikki asked, continuing to massage her neck as they moved closer to the tent at the water's edge.

"Four," he replied, grinning in the way that only a besotted father could. "Do you have kids?"

She shook her head, hoping to avoid the pitying look which normally accompanied her response to that question. For the most part she was content with how her life had turned out, but it always seemed to be other people who held silent opinions on her lack of a family.

Luckily, the detective was too caught up in thoughts of his own daughter to pass any judgement on Nikki's situation.

"Ellie's had us wrapped round her little finger since the day she was born. I've already been warned not to be late for dinner tonight!"

Nikki smiled, despite their cold and miserable location. There was something contagious about his positive demeanour.

"We'd better crack on then," she replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I am so sorry for the delay. I'm pretty sure I jinxed it by saying I would update weekly as I've had no luck since then. Anyway, thank you for reading (and waiting!) and I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

 **/**  
 **/**

It was amazing what a morning stuck at his desk could do. Even though he was feeling groggy and lacking in energy, he found that he was over half way through the paperwork which he had feared would become some kind of modern sculpture in the centre of the office.

It was only when he heard the buzzer of the security door that he realised the time. It was just coming up on 10 to two and Zak was guiding a young brunette towards him.

Harry got up from his desk in time to meet them.

"Imogen," he greeted, as the girl thanked her guide with a smile. "Professor Dalton has asked if I'll keep you entertained until he arrives."

Her smile faltered, and Harry couldn't help but let out a brief laugh.

"Not too disappointed, I hope?" he asked.

She shook her head, quickly returning her expression to a careful smile.

"Not at all," she assured him. "I was just hoping Professor Dalton might be available a little early."

"Have you got somewhere else to be?" Harry asked, immediately aware that his tone hadn't been conveyed quite as he intended.

Imogen's face now rested somewhere between sheepish and defensive. She seemed to have taken his question as a telling off.

"Do you want a coffee?" Harry asked, trying to move away from his mistake.

She raised the cardboard take-away cup in her hand to indicate her answer, but avoided any further response. Harry laughed again, awkwardly, at his own lack of awareness. It was hard to tell if he was just out of sorts or if Imogen's unease was contagious.

"How about a seat then?" he tried again, directing her to his and Nikki's desks and pulling out Nikki's chair for her.

She sat down, taking a sip from her coffee cup and glancing around the room. Harry let her wait in silence rather than forcing unwanted conversation. He opened a new tab in his browser and scrolled through the headlines which summed up the day's news. It wasn't providing much of a distraction from the uncomfortable quiet but it gave him somewhere to look.

After a painfully long 30 seconds he had to say something.

"I hope Dr Alexander didn't bore you too much yesterday," he joked, in an attempt to relax the strange and unexpected tension exuding from the girl.

She smiled politely but had nothing to say, forcing him to come up with something else.

"Tottenham won their game yesterday," he commented, choosing the most accessible sports story from the page. "Do you follow football?"

Imogen shook her head.

"Not really," she responded, bringing that topic of conversation to an abrupt end.

Her gaze was drifting over the handful of photo frames and knick knacks lined up along Nikki's desk, her lips parting slightly as though she was about to speak. But to Harry's dismay, no words followed, and she simply swallowed another mouthful of coffee.

In desperation, he skimmed the entertainment section for something which might prompt more than a two word answer from his unwilling companion. Luckily, the familiar buzz as someone again released the security door spared him the almost certain humiliation of passing comment on Beyonce's latest music video.

Leo entered the room, apologising for running behind schedule, despite the fact it wasn't even five past the hour. Harry felt a sense of relief as the professor introduced himself and directed Imogen towards his office.

Alone again, and letting out a deep sigh, he puzzled over the odd encounter. It wasn't often that someone rendered him unable to make small talk. And, as Nikki and Leo would happily point out, a lack of interest from the other party didn't normally cause him to shut up. Maybe he was losing his touch when it came to understanding his students. Worse than that – maybe he was turning into an out-of-touch old man.

With another sigh he turned back to his next task for the day, pausing for a few minutes to finish reading the entertainment headlines, just in case he had an opportunity to disprove his theory.

/  
/

The tent provided some cover from the rain, but it did nothing to keep out the cold. Nikki was almost relieved that the encroaching tide meant they would be moving to the Lyell Centre very soon.

"Can you bag his hands, please?" she asked, directing the team who were preparing the body for transport.

"What do you see?" D.I. Easton asked, noticing that the pathologist's attention had been caught by something.

"Look at the back of his left hand," Nikki replied.

He leaned over her shoulder, to get a better look at the hand she was crouching beside.

"Do you see the blue smudge?" she asked, pointing with a gloved finger.

"Ink?" Easton suggested, examining the mark.

"I think so," Nikki agreed. "It's faded in the water but we might be able to get a better look in the lab. It could be a reminder he wrote for himself, or a phone number."

"I hope so," he replied with a sigh. An unidentified body with, as yet, no obvious cause of death, wasn't giving him much to go on.

Nikki stood up, stepping out of the way to allow the team to move in with the body bag.

"Hopefully there will be more to go on after the post mortem," she added. "Something caused him to wash up here."

"And you'll get to the bottom of it?" Easton grinned.

Nikki laughed, as they began the slippery ascent back to where her warm, dry car was waiting for her.

"I will give it my very best shot," she assured him.

/  
/

"Imogen, take a seat," Leo welcomed the medical student into his office.

She did as she was told, perching on the edge of one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Professor Dalton," she smiled, fidgeting with her wedding band as she spoke. "I know that you're very busy."

Leo returned her smile. He'd read her student profile in preparation for their meeting. Twenty-three years old and not particularly standout in terms of her academic record, but no red flags to hint at her reason for requesting the urgent meeting.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I want to drop the pathology elective," she responded, getting straight to the point. "I've been advised that as the semester is already underway I have to speak to you directly," she explained.

As soon as the request was out of her mouth she seemed to relax enough to stop the fidgeting.

"Can I ask why?" Leo enquired. He was inherently against giving up, whether that was on a case, a class or anything else. The battle to get Cassie to continue her violin lessons, which had continued right until the day she had died, was testament to that.

"I've changed my mind," Imogen answered. "I don't think pathology is for me."

"What changed your mind?" Leo continued.

Imogen shrugged involuntarily as she scrambled for a reasonable response, her limited poise cracking the moment she was no longer in control of the conversation. It was just her luck that she seemed to be face-to-face with the only professor who cared about anything other than sucking up to the university administration. As long as her fees were paid, why did it matter what classes she was taking? She started to twirl the ring around her finger again, inadvertently distracting herself from finding an answer.

"I hope it's nothing my team have done," Leo remarked, only half-joking. He had every faith in Harry and Nikki but there was always the risk of someone becoming inadvertently upset.

"No, it's nothing like that," she assured him. "I just don't want to spend more time on something I've realised isn't right for me."

"Not many students start their degree wanting to be pathologists," Leo remarked.

If she didn't know it to be anatomically impossible, Imogen would have been certain her heart had collided with her stomach.

Shit. He'd done his research.

"It must have taken something to change your mind so suddenly," he continued, carefully treading the line between being firm but not unkind.

"I don't know what it is; I just don't want to take this elective anymore," she responded, struggling to stop herself sounding as frantic as she felt.

"What do you want to do instead?" he asked, giving her the opportunity to give him a sensible, alternate plan.

"Well, I…" she paused, giving herself a moment to consider her answer and avoid another uncontrolled outburst. "I plan to meet with my advisor as soon as possible to work out what's best to do. She's on a research trip at the moment and won't be back for a couple of weeks."

"Is there anything you'd like to discuss with me in the meantime?" he offered. "It might help for you to think out loud."

She just wanted out of here. Like she had done yesterday and like she would continue to do if she was forced to return.

"It can wait until my adviser is back," she insisted. "I just need your permission to stop attending the classes."

Her voice was quieter now and almost pleading. She stared down at her lap and avoided his gaze, despite being aware he was looking right at her.

"Imogen, part of my job is to provide pastoral support to students. If there's something going on that you want to talk about then you can speak to me in confidence."

"There's nothing," she replied, shutting him down before the suggestion had even left his mouth, and leaving him entirely unconvinced.

"Then what I think would be best is for you to continue with your existing timetable until you have an opportunity to discuss matters with your advisor," he reasoned, calmly. "You have time to consider your options but I wouldn't recommend closing doors for yourself on a whim."

"This isn't on a whim! I know what I want."

She could feel the frustrated tears forming hot pools in her eyes but she knew better than to let them show.

"I'm sorry but I can't allow you to make changes to your curriculum without good reason," Leo apologised. He wasn't unsympathetic but aside from the fact that there were rules to follow, he had a feeling something more was going on than the student changing her mind about the specialist areas she wanted to study. "Until you have a chance to speak to your advisor, I would like you to continue to attend lectures and demonstrations with Dr Cunningham."

Imogen stood up, gathering her bag and coat, ready for her quick exit.

"Thank you for your time," she mumbled, before shooting out of the office without a backwards glance, and before Leo could stop her.

/  
/

Just outside of the Lyell Centre, Nikki was waiting on D. I. Easton finishing a phone call to his boss. From what she could hear, those further up the chain of command didn't seem to have the same patience that he did for giving the investigation time. She hovered a few feet away as he pacified his superior with assurances that he was doing all he could to move things along.

At the same time, Imogen was powering her way through the building, hardly able to stand the delay caused by each door that stood in her way. The tears were seeping along her eyelashes now and her car still seemed so far away. When the fresh air finally hit her face she had almost broken into a jog, so it wasn't really a surprise that she didn't stop to acknowledge the two figures standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the building.

"Careful!" Easton exclaimed, as the girl rushed past them, barging into his arm with enough force to send his phone spinning to the ground.

"Imogen?" Nikki called after her, registering who it was and simultaneously realising that there was no chance of her turning back.

"Do you know her?" he asked, bending down to pick up his phone, grateful that it had survived the fall but frowning that he had inadvertently ended the call.

"Not really," Nikki replied. "She's a medical student. My colleague, Harry, teaches her class. Is your phone okay?"

He nodded, but frowned as he attempted to reconnect with his Chief Inspector.

Nikki watched Imogen disappear around the corner and into the car park, wondering what could have happened to provoke such a dramatic exit. She had only just pushed her concerns about the student to the back of her mind, but they were starting to re-emerge.

In her car and safe from any further unwanted interactions, Imogen closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. Across her eyelids, she saw images of the face she associated with the glimpse of blonde hair that she had tried not to notice. It seemed that the more she wanted to forget, the more her brain clung onto the image.

Why couldn't she just ignore her?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I am the worst at updating and again apologise for that! I still seem to think I can make the time to write that I could when I just had part time summer jobs, but I definitely don't. I hope I can make up for it with the story. As ever, I appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think or even just to read.**

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"I'll never get used to that bit," D.I. Easton grimaced, as Nikki tipped the stomach contents into a basin for analysis.

Nikki smirked when he stepped further from the table. He'd fared well until this point, but even she had to admit that it wasn't the most pleasant aspect of her job.

"Can you smell that?" she asked.

He screwed up his face, not particularly eager to try, but his need to breathe was enough to understand what she meant.

"Alcohol?" he questioned.

"Right again," she replied. "Are you trying to put me out of a job?"

He laughed, taking a tentative, shallow breath to avoid another lungful of the smell.

"Trust me, you have nothing to fear," he muttered, causing her to chuckle. "Do you think he was an alcoholic?"

Nikki considered the suggestion for a moment, before shaking her head.

"Not from the look of his liver," she replied. "There's no sign of cirrhosis or scarring, and he seems to have been in reasonably good health. His skin and hair even appear to have been in good condition. It's very uncommon to see that in someone with a drug or alcohol problem.

The detective frowned, rethinking his idea as to how the man had ended up a corpse on the mortuary slab.

"So he got drunk, stumbled into the river and drowned," he suggested.

Nikki shook her head again, as she continued her examination.

"You're losing your touch," she replied, her lips twitching at the corners. "There's no froth in his airway or lungs, or anything else to suggest drowning. I could be wrong but..."

"You're never wrong?" he supplied with a grin.

She laughed.

"I was going to say, that it's unlikely we'll find anything indicative of drowning in the classic sense."

"I sense another but," he noted, rolling his eyes.

"There are some other possibilities I haven't ruled out," she explained. "The water temperature has been low for the past few days. The shock could have induced cardiac arrest."

He thought of his boss, waiting impatiently for a cause of death so that he could decide where to allocate his manpower. It didn't seem like he would be feeding back an answer any time soon.

"I'll send samples to toxicology - that should tell us if the alcohol had any direct role in his death," Nikki told him. "And I want to take a closer look at his heart to rule out or confirm cardiac arrest."

"What about the ink on his hand?" Easton asked, hoping to find something stronger to go on.

"We'll get a picture and see if the image can be enhanced," Nikki replied, prompting her assistant to direct his camera towards the hand.

He watched Nikki return to her careful examination of whichever organ was next in the process. She certainly had more patience than he did. All he wanted was to get the image to someone who could magnify it into a lead. If cause of death was going to take some time to determine then he would have to get on with identifying the man. Even as he observed the post mortem, the intermittent buzzing of his phone served as a reminder that someone would be breathing down his neck until he did.

/  
/

"Can you work a shift tonight?"

She pretended she hadn't heard the question and gave the textbook on her lap more attention than she had for several hours.

"Imogen?"

He sounded exasperated but she wasn't in the mood to placate him.

"I'm studying," she muttered, chewing the end of her pen as she contemplated the diagram of the facial nerves. She was staring so intently that she was sure the image would still be there if she closed her eyes.

"I thought you were dropping out."

"I haven't decided what I'm doing yet," she replied, still refusing to look at him.

When she had returned to the flat she had been certain about her decision. She wanted to be as far away from the university and the Lyell Centre as possible, and that was all that mattered. But now, after she'd calmed down enough to think, it seemed wasteful to throw away over four years of work if she didn't have to.

"Could you make up your mind while pulling a few pints?" he asked. "Please," he added, his tone softening. "I like to have someone I trust taking care of the place when I'm not there."

She looked up with the faintest hint of a smile. Though she hated its effect, flattery would usually get her on side, and he knew it better than anyone else.

"What's it worth?" she teased, closing the textbook and dropping it to the floor. A distraction was what she needed.

He grinned at her and shook his head.

"There's always a price with you, isn't there?" he laughed, coming closer and cupping her chin in his hand.

She kissed him, biting hard on his lip before pulling away and leaning back against the arm of the couch. She swung her legs up and stretched out lazily, watching with a grin as he climbed on top.

"Will you be away all night, again?" she asked, as her fingertips reached up to trace his hairline.

"I'll try not to be," he promised, mirroring her gesture with one hand as he unzipped his jeans with the other. "I'd much rather be here."

She kissed him again, trying to shut off the other thoughts spinning around in her head.

"I'd rather you were here too."

/  
/

"Coffee?"

Nikki was startled by the sound of another voice in the quiet office. The majority of the lab's employees had left at least a couple of hours ago.

"Don't you have better places to be?" she asked, turning to face Harry.

"Says the woman who is still at her desk at eight o'clock on a Friday night," he chuckled. "What are you doing here, anyway?" he added, leaning over her shoulder to read her computer screen.

"We won't have the complete toxicology report for a while, but I'm running a few blood samples myself to confirm a suspicion," she explained. "I thought I might as well get on with the post mortem report while I wait."

She accepted the coffee cup from his hand with a grateful smile.

"This is the PM you carried out today?" Harry asked.

"Yes," she replied, missing the point of his question.

"So no one is really expecting results tonight," he continued, waiting for her to catch on.

"Well, not exactly, but Matthew's boss is putting pressure on him to get some answers."

"Matthew?" he asked.

"Easton. D.I. Easton."

Harry grinned and nodded, thinking he understood.

"Shut up, Harry - he's married," she responded, causing her colleague's grin to widen.

"I didn't say a word," he smirked, holding up his hands with his palms facing towards her in a gesture of innocence. "So what do you think you've found that will help _Matthew_?"

For a moment she considered not telling Harry what she had found, but her excitement at her discovery proved stronger than her annoyance.

"I think we might have another drug death," she explained, minimising her report and pulling up the image of the dead man's hand. "The smudge on the back of his hand looks like a nightclub stamp, and that would fit with the alcohol in his stomach."

"And _everyone_ who goes clubbing is _obviously_ on drugs," Harry interjected, before she could continue. He knew it was cruel but she was so easy to wind up when she was captivated by her work. "The youth of today are just out of control," he smirked.

She stopped and glared at him, before getting back to her explanation.

"When I realised what the stamp on his hand was, I wondered if there might have been something else tying him to a particular club, so I took another look at his belongings and I noticed a powdery residue inside the pocket of his jeans."

She felt a sense of triumph as Harry waited for the rest. Now she had his attention.

"I took a swab and carried out a Mandelin reagent test," she continued, holding up the sealed tube which now held the swab, and showing it's rust like colour to Harry. "I know it's not definitive, but we have had two PMA related deaths in the last fortnight, and it looks as though Leo's suspected overdose today may be a third."

"And your mystery man a fourth?" he said, no hint of the teasing he had shown before.

"Exactly," she responded. "There was some damage to his heart which wouldn't be inconsistent with hyperthermia. I'm testing his blood for any sign of PMA or other amphetamines. If the results are positive then I'll call D.I. Easton - he's already trying to identify the club from the stamp."

Harry looked from Nikki's animated expression to the clock. He had been planning to drag her out to the pub, or even just out of the office, but she seemed perfectly happy where she was. And he had to admit that her theory of lethal recreational drugs seemed to fit.

"Do you want some company?" he asked.

"Only if I'm not tearing you away from a thrilling Friday night out," she replied, already disappearing back to the lab and her tests.

He laughed at the thought. As reluctant as he was to admit it, there was far more excitement here than if he'd spent the night at home by himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing the previous chapter and I hope you enjoy the new one.**

 **/  
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"Well, it's certainly been a few years since I spent my Friday night anywhere like this," D.I. Easton remarked, as Nikki and Harry approached where he waited for them, outside of his car.

They were just across the road from the club he had identified as being the source of the ink stamp on the dead man's hand. The thud of the bass could be heard thumping out into the smoking area, along with several shouting, staggering revellers. At the main entrance, two serious looking bouncers were vetting those queuing to get in.

"This is my colleague, Harry Cunningham," Nikki introduced, as Harry shook hands with the detective.

"Matthew Easton," he replied. "Sorry to drag you out at this time of night, but if we're wanting to get an idea of whether this place has a drug problem there isn't really a better time. Did you bring your kits?"

Nikki nodded, holding up a silver case. Strictly speaking it wasn't her job to be testing any samples Easton and his team might find, but she was too invested in finding out what was going on to suggest calling out anyone from forensics. It gave her the perfect excuse to be there.

"I've got a couple of officers inside and a few more in uniform on standby if anything kicks off, but I don't want to be too heavy handed. Ideally I'll just have a chat with the manager and see if he knows anything about our man. We can give him a friendly heads up on these PMA pills as well," he added. "Maybe warn the punters too - I can't imagine many of them actually intend to take that stuff."

Nikki nodded in agreement.

"There's a good chance those buying the pills will think they're buying ecstasy," she added.

They watched as a group of girls in their late teens were turned away by the bouncers and made their way back across the road. All wearing shoes which made Nikki's feet ache in sympathy, two of them supported the third, as they swayed and stumbled onto the pavement.

"Is that really a good night out?" Harry muttered, wondering if his student days had been more tame than he remembered.

/  
/

Working behind the bar always put her in a terrible mood. It was hot, sticky and loud and she would rather have sat in the office upstairs, overseeing what was happening on the security cameras. Unfortunately, Ryan had chosen the previous day to sack three bar tenders and they were now understaffed on their busiest night.

"Steph, hurry it up - the stag party in the corner booth have been waiting twenty minutes for their drinks!" she snapped at the nearest member of staff, who was still filling up a tray of shot glasses. Table service was one of Ryan's other brilliant ideas to bring the club in line with more upmarket competition. In her experience, it just led to a greater chance of being groped while serving drinks.

Eventually, Steph hurried from behind the bar and towards the impatient group of men. Imogen wiped a rag over the area where she had been pouring the drinks. It was just as well that there was such a good mark up on the price of the cheap alcohol when so much seemed to end up on the counter or floor. She couldn't understand why it was some of the more competent staff that had been fired.

"Imogen."

She spun round at the sound of the bouncer's voice. Stewart's face was even sterner than usual.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice straining to be heard.

"There's a cop here to speak to Ryan," he replied.

There was a whoop from the stag party as Steph leaned over to set their drinks on the table.

"Licensing?" she asked.

"A D.I. with a couple of the forensics lot in tow," he explained.

She pushed her hair back from her damp forehead and sighed. Ryan had really picked his moment for a night away.

"I can't leave the bar," she told him. "He'll have to speak to me here."

"Right," Stewart nodded, heading back to the door to pass the message to the detective.

Imogen sighed again. Her head was already pounding in time with the music and there were still another two and a half hours until closing. Ryan owed her way more than their earlier deal to make up for this.

/  
/

Just inside the doors of the club - where they had been left waiting by the bouncer - Harry and Nikki exchanged an amused glance. While they were very much out of place, D.I. Easton's awkwardness was much worse. One foot was tapping out of rhythm with the obvious beat of the music, and his hand hovered over his identification, ready to pull it out in explanation of his presence. It seemed his earlier remark about the length of time it had been since he was last in a club was an understatement.

"What do you think he'd look like on the dance floor?" Harry asked, leaning close and speaking directly into Nikki's ear, both to be heard be her and to stop the detective hearing.

"Leave him alone," Nikki chastised.

"Sorry, of course he'd look good," he grinned, earning a punch to his shoulder.

Before she could follow up the punch with another stern remark, they were rejoined by the bouncer.

"Mr Taylor isn't here tonight but his wife's behind the bar if you want to speak to her."

He pointed across the room, in the direction of a slightly elevated platform to the right hand side. It was obvious he wasn't willing to leave his post for a second time to accompany them.

"Thank you," Easton replied, heading off into the crowd as directed.

Harry and Nikki followed, momentarily separated by a string of girls holding hands as they fought their way through the crowd. With people moving in all directions, and others making good use of their elbows to keep hold of the area they had claimed to dance, the seemingly large room was very claustrophobic. Nikki felt an unexpected sense of relief when they stepped up to the quieter area surrounding the bar.

"How would anyone even notice drugs changing hands in here?" she asked Harry, as she was pushed against him by a stumbling body.

D.I. Easton was already waiting at one end of the bar, seemingly having fought a clearer path than the pathologists.

"I'm looking for Mrs Taylor," he asked the nearest member of staff, showing his identification.

The girl nodded and tapped the shoulder of a nearby brunette.

"How can I help you?" she asked, thankful that the words had formed before she recognised the two doctors accompanying the detective.

"I had been hoping to speak with your husband, but I understand he isn't here tonight," Easton began, oblivious to the change in her expression.

Imogen shook her head, not really paying attention as her eyes involuntarily met Nikki's.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her shock ridding her of any tact.

"Dr Cunningham and I are working with D.I. Easton," Nikki replied, surprised by the girl's abruptness. "We didn't know you worked here," she added.

The blood rushed to Imogen's head, making her feel as though all the heat of the room was radiating towards her, but her gaze remained fixed.

"You know each other?" Easton questioned.

Nikki frowned as she watched the colour fill and then drain from Imogen's face under the bar lighting.

"Imogen is a medical student at the university," Harry explained.

The clattering of an empty tray of shot glasses hitting the floor brought Imogen out of her trance.

"Steph, watch what you're doing!" she shouted, spinning round. The girl looked close to tears and she quickly regretted her temper. "Sorry, can you keep an eye on the bar for a while?" she softened. "I need to speak to the police."

Steph still looked startled, but she nodded in agreement.

Imogen turned to D.I. Easton, trying to focus, despite feeling slightly disconnected from the moment.

"It's quieter upstairs in the office. Would you like to talk there?"

/  
/

The office - barely more than a cupboard with a desk - was cramped, but still less claustrophobic than downstairs. D.I. Easton and Nikki sat on a small sofa, with Harry leaning on one arm. Imogen was rummaging in a mini-fridge behind the desk.

"Would anyone else like some water?" she asked, after retrieving a bottle for herself.

They declined, and she took a seat, resting the bottle on the desk so that she could open it without her shaking hands becoming too obvious. The silence before anyone spoke lasted a few seconds more than was comfortable.

"I'd like to show you a photo of someone," Easton said, at last, passing a photo of their unidentified man across the desk. "Have you seen him before?"

Imogen pulled it towards her and looked closely, unperturbed by the fact the she was examining the face of someone who had been dead for a few days. Nikki could see no sign of the apparent squeamishness she had shown in the cutting room during the demonstration.

"I don't know," she answered. "We're a busy club."

"We think he would have been here three or four nights ago," Nikki supplied.

"This is the first shift I've worked all week," she replied.

"Could he have been a regular?" Easton asked. "Maybe you've seen him here on another night."

She took another look, but shook her head.

"I'm sorry - I don't think I can help you."

Easton took the photo back and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"When will your husband be back?" he asked. "I'd like to speak him as well."

"Ryan will be back in the morning," she replied. "He's in Manchester meeting a new supplier."

"Does he often leave you in charge?" Easton enquired.

Imogen took a sip of water, in an attempt to moisten her dry mouth. There was so much about the situation which made her uncomfortable, and the slight change in the detective's tone was just the beginning.

"Not often," she answered, cautiously. "As Dr Cunningham said, I'm a medical student. I pick up a shift here and there to help out, but I don't have time for much more."

Easton turned to Harry and Nikki, as though looking for confirmation of what he had been told.

"We do like to work them hard," Harry responded with a smile.

"On the nights you've been here have you noticed any unusual activity in the club?" Easton continued.

"What do you mean unusual?" Imogen frowned.

"Have you ever had problems with patrons taking drugs?"

"We have a zero tolerance policy on drug use," she replied, without any hesitation.

"I'm sure you do, but have you noticed any problems?"

She sighed, knowing that Ryan would be handling this conversation much better than she was.

"It's a night club. There are hundreds of people here on a busy night. There's the occasional incident, but no, I'm not aware of any drug problem."

Easton scribbled something in his notepad.

"Can you think of any specific incidents?"

Imogen paused, unsure if the conversation was approaching the point where she should stop being so co-operative.

"What about any incidents involving PMA?" Easton pressed.

"PMA?"she questioned.

"Para-methoxyamphetamine," Nikki explained. "It's..."

"I know what it is," Imogen interrupted. "Is that what killed the man you showed me?"

Harry shot Nikki a look of confusion at the student's dismissive treatment of her. Nikki shrugged her shoulders and returned an equally confused glance in response.

"We can't confirm that yet," Easton answered. "Have you heard anything about it getting into the club?"

Imogen shook her head.

"No, I haven't heard anything."

Her phone was vibrating in her pocket, confirming her suspicion that Stewart had let Ryan know what was going on as soon as he had been able.

"Do you mind if we have a look around before we leave?" the detective asked. "With it being such a busy place there might be something you aren't seeing."

"Knock yourselves out," she shrugged, not knowing what else she could do.

"And I would appreciate it if you would let your husband know we'll be round to speak to him tomorrow."

She nodded as Easton got to his feet, closely followed by Harry and Nikki.

"Thank you for speaking to us," Nikki smiled, purposefully forcing an interaction with the girl to gauge her response.

Imogen gave a small, stunted smile in response.

"No problem," she replied, already turning back to Easton. "I'm happy to help in any way I can."

/  
/

The moment they stepped out of the office the thump of the bass line below was amplified. As he had done earlier, D.I. Easton led the way. The noise and the distance between them gave Harry the opportunity to speak to Nikki alone.

"What was going on with you and Imogen?" he asked, catching her arm and holding her back long enough to try to find out. "Did you know she was going to be here?"

"No," she replied. "And I have no idea what's going on. The only other time I met her was when I took your class."

"Then why does she dislike you more than she dislikes being questioned by the police?" he asked, with no hint of his previous mocking of her teaching abilities.

"I don't know," Nikki frowned. "I noticed something was wrong during the class. Maybe she's involved in something and worried I've worked it out?"

Harry made a noise that indicated he wasn't convinced.

"I can't think of any other reason," Nikki remarked, and he while he couldn't disagree with her, he couldn't help but think there was something more.


End file.
